The two young men then knew that she was the money-lender's daughter, and Holcombe thought his dream companion must bear the name of Löwenberg.
“But is not Zimmermann a rich old merchant, and is he not well-known in the town?” asked Ellice. “My landlady named him at once when I asked for laces.”
“Oh! yes; rich he is; so rich he won't sell generally; but then an Englishman is another thing! He lives like a rat in a hole, and starves himself.”
By this time, they had reached the [pg 418] door of the miser's room; a low, subdued voice was heard within reading.
Their knock was answered by a noise of light footsteps, and the door was drawn ajar by some one inside.
“Rachel, what is it? You know Herr Zimmermann is ill.”
Holcombe knew that voice must belong to the girl he had never forgotten. Just then the light from the door fell upon the men in the darkened, narrow passage, and the slight figure drew back a little.
“They are English gentlemen,” said Rachel. “They want to buy.”
“To-day, Rachel? It is the Sabbath.”
Rachel shrugged her shoulders, and Ellice stepped forward.